


get your ass down here (reprimand me for my sins)

by Bouncey



Series: Happiness and Plenty [2]
Category: The Witcher (TV), Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types
Genre: Bottom Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia, Consensual Mind Reading/Mind Control, Established Relationship, Fluff and Smut, Gentle Dom Jaskier | Dandelion, Geralt Likes Jaskier's Godly Voice, God!Jaskier, Gratuitous use of the word 'Milord', Immortal Jaskier | Dandelion, Insecure Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia, Jaskier is the God of Happiness and Plenty, Light Bondage, Light Dom/sub, M/M, Mind/Mood Altering Substances, Non-Human Jaskier | Dandelion, Praise Kink, Safe Sane and Consensual, Service Top Jaskier | Dandelion, Smut, Top Jaskier | Dandelion
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-14
Updated: 2020-07-14
Packaged: 2021-03-04 23:28:58
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,864
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25264642
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Bouncey/pseuds/Bouncey
Summary: There was a brief pause before his White Wolf murmured against the skin of his shoulder, "Thank you, Jaskier.""For what, love?""For everything," Geralt smiled, splaying one of his large hands against the god's stomach. "But especially for bringing me happiness.""Well, you know," Jaskier winked, pressing a kiss to his Witcher's forehead. "It's kind of my job."
Relationships: Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion
Series: Happiness and Plenty [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1830604
Comments: 37
Kudos: 391





	get your ass down here (reprimand me for my sins)

**Author's Note:**

> Y'all asked for less dubcon (oops I didn't mean to write that last time but I'm really new to smut so shit happens, I learned) and more "puddles of Witchery goo" so...
> 
> Title from the Cosmo Jarvis song "Love This". 
> 
> To anyone who wants to use this universe/version of God!Jaskier or the enchanted silk, please feel free! And let me know! I'd love to read your stuff/comment/leave kudos!
> 
> Enjoy!

Geralt stormed into their rented room, eyes narrowed and shoulders hunched. He placed his swords atop his pack and snarled like a feral beast when they wouldn’t balance properly the first time and he had to readjust them. _Not a good sign,_ Jaskier thought. He took a seat cross-legged on the bed and asked, “What’s wrong, love?”

“Villagers,” the Witcher snarled, practically ripping his cloak off and throwing it to the floor next to the swords. His armor joined it in short order. The Witcher's hands were clenched into fists at his sides and his breathing was coming in uneven shudders. “Fucking idiots. It wasn’t a _monster_ that stole their fucking livestock, it was a petty group of _bandits._ ”

“You hate killing men,” the god frowned. Geralt nodded, otherwise unmoving. Jaskier took in his love's taut shoulders, pained expression, and elevated heartbeat. _All signs that he’s about to have some sort of panic attack or start a screaming match,_ the young god knew. Rather than end what had been a productive day performing at the inn by unleashing Geralt’s particularly loud ways of dealing with pent up frustration and emotion, Jaskier decided it was time to play his trump card. He cast a quick silence charm over the perimeter of the room to give them privacy and softened his tone, pulling that _little bit_ of melodic power into it that Geralt loved so much, **“Come here, Witcher.”**

Geralt couldn’t do anything but obey, crossing the room to stand before Jaskier. The anger and hurt in his eyes shifted to curiosity and excitement at the order. And the way in which the order was given. It had been several weeks since they’d met up again to travel the Path and he wasn’t sure that Jaskier would ever do this with him again. He’d even wondered if the whole Samhain experience was some sort of fever dream. “Jas?”

 **“Sit down, Wolf.”** Jaskier had, of course, meant for Geralt to take a seat next to him on the edge of the bed, but the Witcher decided that he much preferred the floor. He folded his legs neatly beneath him and dropped into a comfortable kneel. Just like it had on Samhain, the gesture sent a rocket of affection, lust, and wonder through Jaskier’s immortal soul. “Oh. Is this how you’d like to be today? **Tell me.** ”

“Yes.”

“Straightforward at least,” the bard sighed heavily. “Do you want me to use the enchanted silk?”

“Yes.”

“Do you want me to use **this voice**?”

“Yes.”

“What do you want me to do?”

“I wa- fuck. I want…” Geralt blushed, eyes unable to meet Jaskier’s. His face was flushed and his heartbeat was quickening its tempo again. 

“Would you rather give me a peek at your thoughts, darling?”

“Yes, please.”

“Alright, sit tight. **I’m only going to see what you want me to see, okay**?”

“Thank you, Milord.”

The young god breathed in deeply and closed his eyes, pushing past the barrier of Geralt’s heavily guarded consciousness and into his direct thoughts. The things he wanted Jaskier to see were laid out on top of his mind like a quilt in the grass. _I want you to take care of me like you did on Samhain. I want to be - I want to be_ quiet _. I want someone else to be in control for just a moment, someone I can trust. I know I don’t deserve to be punished for doing my job, but I need you to give me penance in some way; please help._

“That was very clear and succinct,” the bard praised. Geralt’s cheeks turned an even deeper shade of pink and Jaskier couldn’t help but plant a kiss on his Witcher’s forehead. “ **Thank you for letting me in.** ”

“ _Milord_ ,” Geralt huffed. 

“Oh alright,” Jaskier pretended to relent, as if the decision had been hard to make. It very much had not been. “ **Fetch my bag please, Tribute.** ”

The youthful god tried to hide his excitement at just how _quickly_ Geralt moved to fetch his travel bag from across the room. The usually graceful swordsman practically tripped over his own feet; something he’d never do on the trail of a monster or as they walked through a town square. He returned to his kneeling position at Jaskier’s feet and offered up the bag with both hands. The bard took it from him with a pleased smile. “Thank you, my sweet.”

“Hmm.”

Jaskier lowered his voice and filled it to the brim with every ounce of power he could manage, “ **Don’t be stoic, Geralt. I want to know how you’re feeling and whether or not you’re enjoying what we do. I want to see it on your face and hear all your little noises.** ”

The Witcher fucking _panted_ when he heard that command. Once, loudly. An exhalation that was too sharp to be a sigh and too tuneless to be a laugh. His golden eyes rolled back slightly and his wrists went up and out in front of him before he could stop himself, silently begging to be bound by the piece of magicked blue silk. 

“You’re so impatient,” the bard smiled, digging through the bag until he found what he was looking for. “Alright, shirt on or off?”

Geralt’s shirt quickly joined his cloak and armor in the pile near his bag.

“ **Hands on my lap, Witcher. Wrists crossed.** ”

Geralt did as he was told, setting his overlapping wrists gently against Jaskier’s silk-clad thighs. The bard wrapped them quickly and tightly, enveloping his Witcher in a comfortable fog of magick as he tied the final knot and tugged. Geralt’s voice was low and sleepy as he sighed, “Milord.”

“Hmm,” Jaskier smiled, running a hand through his captive’s white hair, “ **So well behaved for me.** ”

“Yes, Milord,” Geralt murmured, pressing into the gentle touch. “All yours.”

“ **I know.** ”

“Hmm.” Geralt sat back on his heels again, happy to just kneel and be looked at by his own personal deity. Jaskier ran his calloused fingertip over a new set of scratches on the Witcher’s arm where one of the bandits’ daggers had barely made contact. 

“My poor Witcher,” he lamented. “Getting hurt by those nasty ruffians. Having to kill when he only wanted to protect.”

“Milord,” Geralt whimpered. He _hated_ killing humans. It was the worst type of job, even when they were monstrous in their own right. 

“ **You’ll get what you need. Be patient**.”

Geralt writhed in place; the sound of Jaskier’s godly voice giving him praises and commands had driven him nearly mad on Samhain and it seemed to be having the same effect on him now. “ _Mercy_ , Milord.”

“Mercy? From what?”

“Touch me, please.”

“Ah, I see. You need to be shown who’s in charge here once again, **don’t you**?”

“ _Yes,_ Milord.”

“ **Stand up, Witcher** .” He obeyed instantly, standing before Jaskier with his pupils blown wide and his hands clenching against the silk. “What do you want from me _on this day_ , Geralt?”

“I have taken mortal lives _on this day_ and I wish to do penance.”

“ **You know I don’t like unnecessary punishments, my Wolf. You eliminated those men to save this village from starving. I won’t punish you for doing your job correctly or wisely.** ”

“ _Please_!” Geralt begged. “I just need to be _marked.”_

“I will claim you and mark you,” Jaskier agreed, standing from the edge of the bed and walking in a slow circle around Geralt. “But only because _I wish to do so,_ do you understand? **My marks are a** **_gift_ ** **from me, not a punishment.** If I brush through your thoughts and find you liking the pain for any other reason than because it is coming from me, **I will leave you tied and wanting until** **_sunrise_** _._ ”

“Yes, Milord.”

“ **Repeat it to me and believe it.** ”

“You are only going to mark my skin because it pleases you to do so. I am a good Witcher and my job is sometimes unpleasant. I have saved more lives than I have taken by completing this job and therefore I do not deserve punishment.”

“ **Very good.** I will mark you only as a _reward,_ my sweet Witcher. For pleasing me and making me _happy._ ”

“Your marks are a great honor, Milord. I am happy to belong to you.”

“ **Get onto the bed, hands by the headboard. I want you to keep them there until I say.** ”

Geralt crawled onto the bed and Jaskier nearly fainted from the sight of it, god or not. The way his Witcher’s body looked in the firelight, all thick muscle, shimmering white hair and bright eyes; it was nearly enough to drive an immortal to lunacy. The way those long, pale legs tensed and shifted as he tried to balance on the mattress with bound hands was a thing of wonder. Jaskier wanted to bite them. He was _going_ to bite them. 

Once Geralt was lying down as instructed, Jaskier climbed onto the bed and straddled his hips. “Milord?”

“You are utterly _delectable,_ sweet tribute,” he sighed, running his hand down the outside of Geralt’s right leg. “Gods, I’m going to make you _immortal.”_

“M-Milord, no.” Geralt shook his head. His white hair spilled across the pillowcase and Jaskier had to bite a knuckle to keep from moaning at the sheer beauty of his Witcher. Then the mostly-mortal said, “I don’t deserve it.”

Jaskier’s body tensed and the young god released a feral snarl. He leaned low over the human and sank his teeth into the meat of Geralt’s upper thigh. His Tribute released a high whimper and his hands fisted in the sheets above his head; a longing shudder forced him to arch his spine and buck his hips. “ **If I deem you worthy of a gift then you deserve it, Geralt.** **_Don’t forget who I_** **_am._** ”

He hadn’t meant to put so much emphasis on that last sentence, but something in him finally snapped. The young and joyful god was tired of hearing and feeling the Witcher’s self loathing on an endless loop. Tired of his darling love thinking so lowly of himself only because the world, and those stinking _mortals_ who inhabited it _,_ didn’t see how truly lovely he was. Geralt was a strong, noble man with a caring, soft heart; Jaskier was going to spoil the absolute shit out of him for at least a handful of eons.

Except that his voice may have slipped an octave too deep. His power may have hit Geralt a little too hard. Whatever had happened, the Witcher suddenly went wide-eyed and limp beneath the god’s gentle hands. “Milord,” he gasped out, barely audible. “Milord, I could never forget who you are. You are the God of Happiness and Plenty. You are my _Jaskier._ ” 

“You are so beautiful, my Geralt,” Jaskier murmured, pressing his lips against the ring of teeth marks he’d left on the Witcher’s leg. “So soft and strong.”

“Both?”

“ **Both, my darling. You are so,** **_so_ ** **strong every day.** ” The young god ran his hands down Geralt’s raised arms, feeling as each group of muscles jumped beneath the pale, scarred skin. Everything in his Witcher seemed to yearn for his touch, arching and leaning into it without Jaskier needing to say or command a thing. His fingers moved to trace and caress the features of Geralt’s face, which was utterly relaxed as Jaskier’s powerful voice invaded and calmed his busy mind, “ **So soft for me. Only for me.** ”

He leaned down, pressing a kiss to Geralt’s yielding lips. He felt the ever constant heart in his Witcher’s chest speed up. His hands trailed down that broad, scarred chest and settled on the wolf medallion. He placed a gentle kiss against the metal and Geralt felt the last bit of stress in his body fade completely away. 

“ **I am going to tease you now. Do not move your hands from above you, understand?** ” The snowy white headed nodded in affirmation. “ ** _I need to hear it out loud._** ”

“I understand, Milord.”

“ **Much better, love.** ” 

Jaskier began his process then. He kissed across both of Geralt’s cheeks, his forehead, and down both sides of his neck. The god trailed damp kisses along the Witcher’s collarbones and nibbled at the place where his neck met those glorious, wide shoulders. He sucked two or three purple love marks into the skin of his neck and upper chest. He traced one of the larger scars on Geralt’s pectoral and sighed. “I never want to see you hurting like this again, but I know that your job is dangerous. If you let me transform you then I won’t have to worry about your safety all the time. And it would be much easier to fight such nasty beasties.”

“Hmm.”

He braced his palm against the Witcher’s taught abdominal muscles and used the leverage to slide himself backwards. He gestured towards his captive’s trouser laces and raised an eyebrow, “May I?”

“Yes, Milord.”

Once Geralt had been stripped completely, Jaskier could properly enjoy him. He pressed firm, insistent kisses against the Witcher’s hipbones and felt the man jerk in surprise. “ **I am going to wreck you, my lovely White Wolf.** ”

“Thank you, Milord.”

Jaskier took his Tribute’s half-masting cock in hand and stroked it to full hardness as Geralt shuddered beneath him. “ **I am going to take you apart one piece at a time and put you back together, whole and beautiful. You are gorgeous and so,** **_so_ ** **precious. Thank you for trusting me with your body and mind. I will cherish them.** ”

With one hand still around his Witcher, moving languidly as if he had all the time in the world (which, technically speaking, he did) the godling leaned down to flick and tug at one of Geralt’s nipples. The sound his Tribute made was somewhere between a moan and a gasp; it did some incredible things to Jaskier's libido either way. He settled his mouth against the nipple he wasn't playing with, licking and biting until it was hard and cherry-red. Then he switched. When he was done with his mouth, he sat back absently at thumbed at them while the other man jerked and wriggled beneath him. The sounds Geralt made were utterly debauched. “Mi-M- _ah._ ”

“ **Shhh. I’ve got you.** ”

The Witcher could only nod, his pupils blown wide and his body shaking with the effort of keeping his hands above his head. “T-touch you?”

“You may touch me, yes,” Jaskier nodded. Geralt’s hands were on him instantly, running down his still-clothed chest and tugging at the sleeves of his chemise. “ **What do you say when you want something?** ”

“Please, Milord. Let me touch your skin.”

“Hmm, alright. Since you asked so nicely.” He shed his chemise and breeches but left his smalls intact, reinforcing the idea that he was in charge. He stroked up Geralt’s dick and looked him directly in the eyes, “Would you like to take or be taken?”

“In my head,” Geralt blushed, closing his eyes. 

“No thank you,” Jaskier said. He was going to get Geralt to be more vocal about his wants and needs, “ **Tell me now, Tribute, would your rather take or be taken?** ”

“I’d rather be taken!” Geralt half-shouted. His breathing was erratic and he couldn’t quite look Jaskier in the eyes. That just wouldn’t do.

“ **I will always give you what you want but you must tell me what that is first. Understand me, little sacrifice?** ” Geralt was neither little nor a sacrifice at the moment, but both words seemed to hit him right where Jaskier intended. He melted against the mattress again and nodded. The godling reached back into the bag that Geralt had fetched for him and dug around until he found the vial of oil Lavender had prepared for his travels. He poured a little out into his palm and made sure to slick up three of his fingers. He kissed up and down the inside of Geralt’s thighs just to make him squirm and wriggle. “Gods, you’re so amazing. So responsive.”

Geralt made a series of rather lewd noises and His Most Joyful showed mercy at last, swallowing his way down the Witcher’s cock one inch at a time until it was all the way down his throat. “ _Fuck, Milord.”_

Jaskier wanted to make a joke about how _yeah that was kind of the point, Geralt,_ but he knew that his darling Tribute needed something more than teasing right now. He pressed the first fingertip against Geralt’s hole and nearly fell off the bed from the _wave_ of intense happiness that radiated from him at the touch. He suckled gently at the cock in his mouth as he pressed in, up to the first knuckle, and waited a moment for Geralt’s body to adjust. Once that seemed comfortable, he slid a second finger beside the first and began to move them in and out slowly. Eventually he’d find that little bundle of nerves that made his Witcher fall to pieces, but he wanted to take his time.

It had been nearly six months since they’d last done this, after all. He scissored his fingers for a minute or two before finally adding a third. Geralt was nearly mad with lust at that point, shaking and moaning against the sheets. Sweat had gathered on his forehead, gluing down a few of his fair fly-aways. Jaskier had never seen anything so infuriatingly gorgeous before in his many centuries of life. “Are you ready?”

“Yes, Milord!”

“ **Don’t lie to me.** Are you ready?”

 _“Yes, Milord!_ ” 

Well if that wasn’t enthusiastic verbal consent, then what was? Jaskier happily ripped off his smallclothes and ran a hand down Geralt’s lovely chest once more. “Roll over for me, little sacrifice?”

Geralt was on his hands and knees in a second. The god pushed against his shoulders, lowering them down until his chest was pressed to the mattress and his _sinful,_ absolutely _heavenly_ ass was still raised in the air. Jaskier’s hand slid into the crease at Geralt’s hip, dragging the Witcher backwards towards him. The Witcher, who’d spent twelve years thinking the man behind him would snap like a twig under too much physical stress, was amazed at the show of force. His mind, if it could get any foggier with lust and joy, would have completely whited out from that movement alone.

Except that Jaskier had begun to press inside. The god slid into the warm heat of Geralt's body inch by slow inch, making sure that his Tribute felt every movement and approved. Judging by the low moan that erupted from his massive chest, the young god was doing just fine. He slid most of the way out, let Geralt adjust, and started setting a comfortable rhythm of thrusts. He altered the way he was kneeling and finally heard the other man's rough grunt of approval when he struck against his prostate.

Jaskier worked Geralt into a frenzy by slamming repeatedly into that singular spot over and over, focusing on the waves of happiness, lust, and contentment radiating from his Tribute's mind and soul. He added a little more oil to the palm of his hand and reached to take the Witcher's cock in his hand again, pumping in time with his ever-hurrying thrusts. " **You're so good for me, not to come until I tell you.** "

"Y-y- _ah_ yes, Milord!"

Jaskier poised his Witcher at the edge of release and held him there for a minute or two, reveling in the show of trust and love he was being given. He felt power tingling against his skin, caressing him like he was caressing Geralt. _This is Happiness,_ he knew. Finally, filled to the brim with the magick of his Witcher's joy, he hurried his pace and thrust ever faster. His hand tightened on Geralt's cock, stroking firmly just how he liked.

" **Come for me, Tribute. Let me hear you howling, my beautiful White Wolf.** "

Geralt could not disobey that voice. His spine arched downward toward the mattress and his vision went momentarily black as he came harder than he had on Samhain. His spend painted the sheets beneath them and he did howl, just as his god commanded. He howled like he was the first man in all of creation to experience pleasure. Jaskier followed suit, burying himself to the hilt in his Witcher as he shook through a powerful orgasm.

When the aftershocks subsided, he pulled himself away from Geralt and sat back on his haunches with a laugh. "You're incredible, love."

"Hmm."

Jaskier snapped his fingers and watched as the sheets (and Geralt) became clean once again. "How?" the Witcher asked, still dizzy and off-balance from the force of his orgasm and still tied up in the powerful silk.

"I'm a god?"

"Milord," Geralt practically purred. He stayed bent over, face smushed into the firm straw-and-down mattress, unable or unwilling to move. Jaskier wasn't sure which. After one last, long glance over the Witcher's body, he gestured for the other man to sit up.

" **Give me your hands.** It's time to take the ribbon off and have a cuddle, my love."

"Hmph. Fine." 

"We can do this again," Jaskier smiled comfortingly, tugging one of the first knots free. "All you have to do is ask."

  
“I told Lavender to stop accepting new Tributes and offerings,” Jaskier said, wrapping an arm around Geralt’s waist and tugging him close. The Witcher's head rose from its place atop his chest, gold eyes full of curiosity. They were still in the nude, basking in the warmth and happiness of Jaskier's godly post-sex aura. His Most Joyful ran a hand through Geralt's snow white hair and smiled, “I don’t want to touch anyone else. Ever again.”

“But don’t you need the Ritual to survive? Lavender said that you took sustenance from it.”

The worry staining Geralt's tone sent Jaskier's heart flying into the rafters yet again. 

“Yes, but I hoped that you might fulfill that duty from now on? Only if you’d like to, of course. I would never ask you to partake of something so personal without your consent. That kinda defeats the purpose of the whole shared happiness thing, after all.”

“Of course I'll return to your temple when fall comes, but I’d be lying if I said I want to make it easy on your acolytes,” Geralt smiled. “They need a challenge every few years, yeah? Maybe make them give chase or learn some new traps?"

“Keep them on their toes,” Jaskier smiled. “That would be hilarious and I'd love to see it."

“You should also let me teach them self defense.”

“That’s a beautiful idea. You're very considerate."

"They should be able to protect themselves," Geralt shrugged. "And you."

"I can protect myself just fine," the young god argued. "Anyway, I keep company with a Witcher. I'll always be safe."

There was a brief pause before his White Wolf murmured against the skin of his shoulder, "Thank you, Jaskier."

"For what, love?"

"For everything," Geralt smiled, splaying one of his large hands against the god's stomach. "But especially for bringing me happiness."

"Well, you know," Jaskier winked, pressing a kiss to his Witcher's forehead. "It's kind of my job."

**Author's Note:**

> You guys know I'm a rude ho who begs for comments so like...
> 
> Please leave me comments and I'll love you more than anything.


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